


sense and the second bedroom

by snsk



Series: 19th century love song [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 1889, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the bitter autumn of 1889, Daniel Howell returns to Wokingham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sense and the second bedroom

It was a chilly day in this particular part of Berkshire, one of many during the bitter autumn of '89. At the station, alighting amongst a hurried, dispersing crowd, a tall young man in his indeterminate twenties shivered as he drew his dark coat more firmly about him and shoved his gloved hands into its pockets. Successful in his attempts to hire a trap, he leaned heavily back as it rattled away through the lovely lanes of Wokingham, with the air of one tensing himself for whatever was to come upon reaching his destination. He sat in silence in this way while the trap travelled a mile or so, and until the driver, a heavyset man with a red-faced, amiable countenance who had been glancing sideways at him inquisitively, could not contain himself anymore.

"First time here, son?" he enquired benignly.

The young man startled, and looked straight at him for the first time, where before he had been staring unseeingly out at the crisp September greenery. "No, sir - I'm from around these parts, actually."

The driver turned right around to peer at him. "Why, you're not-"

"I suppose I am," the young man acquiesced. 

"The Howell boy!" the driver ejaculated. "The last time I saw you was a decade ago, a lanky nipper you were! You've not been around these parts in ages."

"Well," said he, smiling uneasily, "I do come down. It's hard to get away sometimes."

"Danny, wasn't it?" the driver said, snapping his fingers triumphantly. "And your younger brother, Adrian, off at University."

"Daniel," the young man said, "or Dan."

"But of course I read your column in the Times - what was that?"

Dan shook his head and motioned for the driver to continue, which he did, enthusiastically and with much exuberance, about how _of course_ he agreed with Dan's pieces, well thought out opinions, _most_ of them, but some of the young whippersnappers writing for the papers had _no_ idea what they were writing about, and the papers would hire anyone these days, really! Some of these outlandish new opinions!

"A vile shame," remarked Dan drily, but Mr Dawson - for he had finally recalled the fellow's name - seemed not to notice his tone, and said, pulling at his reins, "And we're here, do give my best to everyone at home!"

The young man promised it, and the driver tipped his cap at him and went on his way.

Daniel Howell stood staring at the little whitewashed house for a while, the blue smoke curling up from its chimney and the sparing spots of lichen on its walls; then he shook his head, as if to clear it, and pushed open its worn garden gate. The creaking seemed to alert its occupant, for the front door swung open and a woman spread her arms out for him - arms he strode up the path and fell into, engulfing her with his height and longer limbs. Quite obviously this was mother and son: her hair was the same tint of brown as his, her eyes as dark and bright, and when she spoke, it was quick and clear, ushering him into the house.

"Let's get you out of this cold, come and stand by the fireplace - frightful autumn we've been having, isn't it, more like the midst of December, really-"

"Mr Dawson sends his regards," Dan told her, removing his hat, coat and gloves. "He happened to be driving the car I hired."

"A good man," Mrs Howell said approvingly. "Your father is still at work, and your brother is away, of course, it's just me to entertain you, I'm afraid."

Dan showed no surprise at this news; he had evidently timed his visit carefully. "That's alright, Mother," he reassured her. "How have you all been, then?"

She told him about Mrs Henderson's daughter, who was now a governess, and about poor Mr Felix, who had fallen ill some weeks ago and was just wasting away, nothing to be done for him. She spoke of their planning a trip to the seaside at the end of the month, how good the fresh air and sunshine would be, and of his father's new penchant for moss-roses, and how they constantly seemed on the verge of death but would his father give it up?

"Of course not," she concluded, and Dan smiled.

"And Adrian is interested in Ella Banks," she continued. "Always at the shop, he is."

"That's nice," said he, guardedly.

There was a little pause, during which he took a sip of the tea she had laid out for him and she appeared to be gathering her thoughts.

"Mrs Henderson's daughter has grown up to be a fine young woman indeed," she remarked eventually.

"Who?" 

"Emily Henderson," she reminded her son. "The governess? And you know how she's always had a bit of a thing for you."

The tension that had stiffened Dan's spine, which had stayed throughout the drive and only dissipated momentarily as he embraced his mother at the door, now seemed to bleed out of him completely. It was as if the thing he had been dreading had now come to pass, and now there was nothing to be done but face it.

"I'm sure she's lovely," he said, "and I am also fairly sure I'm not interested in the slightest."

"Dan," Mrs Howell sighed. "Well, how about-"

"Must you, Mother?" he burst out suddenly. "I like to think I am doing pretty well for myself, and that you have brought me up to be a decent enough person plagued with none of the vices that you have oft warned me about. I visit when I can, and I try at a relationship with Adrian. Are you not even a bit proud of how I turned out?"

"My darling, of course I am." The mother came to sit by the son on the settee, and smoothed a thumb over his brow, as she had years ago, when he was a child and came to her with his worries. "I just want someone so you will not be lonesome in your old age, who will mend your clothes and fuss over you and make sure you go to bed at a reasonable hour."

He turned to face her. "Phil does all of this."

"And bless his heart for it, but he won't be around forever. He will find a wife and settle down, for he is a fine young man."

"He won't," said he, and smiled to himself, as if in on a private joke that contented him even in the face of his mother's vexations.

"Ah, but how can you be sure?" she cried, casting a fretful look about his person.

Dan took one of her hands in his. "I cannot make you acknowledge something you refuse to see," he said. It was a strange, sudden shift in dynamic, he comforting her. He had gained fortitude from something she could not see, a secret that could supply him strength. "But you have always said you wanted only for our happiness, Adrian and I, so will you not be happy for me?" 

She stared at him for a moment. "My dear son," she said, covering her mouth with her free hand. "My child. Of course I will."

"Then be happy," he told her. "For I am."

 

The train that carried Dan back to London was at that odd hour where most had reached their evening meals and not many had ventured out into the cold night. The passengers were hungry and sparse and not prone to talking; this suited Dan, who spent most of it in thought, staring out of the window, well enough. Having met his father on his way home and spent a hour with him, he had taken his polite leave: "Phil will worry."

His father laughed. "That one," he had said. "Worse than a nagging wife! You will be well-accustomed to marriage when you do get around to it."

Dan had smiled politely. His mother had darted a worried look between the two of them. 

But finally he disembarked and hailed a hansom. This was a significantly different journey than the one he has taken to the little house in Wokingham; here he leaned forward in anticipation throughout, here he jiggled his knee as if ever-ready to climb off. When they reached a familiar street, windows of light burning along it as if beacons home, he thrust some money at the driver and climbed off quickly with a quick, effusive expression of thanks. And yet he climbed the stairs as sedately as he could.

He turned the key in the lock, and observed what lay before him: a snug, bright room, with a flickering fireplace and a dinner laid out on the table; various books laid out on the table, a shockingly orange pair of socks abandoned near the sofa. A place quite obviously well-worn and lived in and loved. The young man took in a long, deep sigh of contentedness. 

There was not a hint of the tension that had plagued him in the afternoon.

"Your dinner is long since cold, but I daresay Mrs Wick will allow us the use of her stove again," a voice said. Dan turned to face its owner, coming out of the second bedroom. He was of the same considerable height as Dan, perhaps older; black-haired and clad in a comfortable-looking dressing gown, his eyes were blue and kind and showed some hint of relief. "I thought you were eating with your parents, perhaps."

"I did not want to return too late."

"Thoughtful of you. How is everyone?"

"Mother sends her warmest regards," Dan said.

"Does she?" asked he.

Dan removed his gloves, methodical and thoughtful about it. "She does, actually."

Evidently this person knew Dan well enough to conclude, after a quick glance, that nothing more was to be discussed; he said instead: "Then we will see if Mrs Wick has not gone to sleep, and beg the use of her-"

This was as far as he got before Dan flew at him and arms were wrapped around his neck, Dan's face pressed to the side of his.

"Oh, my darling boy," Philip Lester said. "My darling, beloved boy."

Dan took a deep, shuddering breath. _"Phil."_

"You're alright, Dan," whispered he. His arms had immediately come up to encircle Dan's waist, and now his hands rubbed comfortingly up and down his back. "You're just fine."

"Phil," Dan repeated, choked. "Phil, oh! you don't know how glad I am of you - how glad and grateful I am. You don't even know."

"My darling boy," Phil said tenderly. "If it is even half of what I feel for you - I think I have some idea."

They stayed in this embrace for a long while, as night gathered and fell around London, and the usual assorted motley cast spilled out onto her streets. In the cozy sitting room, a fire burned merrily, a meal was warmed up, and a young man drew comfort and strength from love's presence. Wokingham had not been home to Daniel Howell for a long time now.

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun writing this oh my god - i might try a prequel type thing about how they met what do u all think - also hmu on my BRAND NEW TUMBLR: snsknene


End file.
